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the-forbidden-tuna · 2 months

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Stout Swordsmen

Did my very first ironman after being convinced to by a friend and did fe6 hard mode which was fun! Only lost a few units, the most upsetting being Rutger so have this short little story of two fat fuck swordsmen as treat for getting Rutger killed and Dieck being hard benched

Warning: This is a fetish story!

“Glad to know I can sense your presence much better now,” Seated on two chairs shoved together, the furnished wood digs into Dieck’s broad, flabby backside: said prodigious back faces towards the wheezing Rutger, the obese swordsman just as ponderously fat as his partner, the two six hundred pounders that’re swiftly closing in on seven hundred pounds quite a shock to the entire meager amount of patrons inside one of Edessa’s many inns that sprung up with Ilia’s ever increasing economy.

For all the irritation and annoyance shown on Rutger’s red, bloated face marred with beads of sweat from the heavy and hearty meal sitting in his barrel for a gut, he holds most of it back, furrowed eyes nervously shifting back and forth to glance at all the men that try their best, and fail, to not look at him and Dieck. “Silence,” He says before taking a seat. On a single chair that creaks and groans underneath his rotund, burdensome figure which thanks him by silencing somewhat after Rutger furiously grabs another chair to sit on two like Dieck.

“Normally you’d compliment me for my skill,” Grinning all to himself, Dieck leans forward. The table suffers from the reposition, Dieck’s large sagging ball of lard for a stomach oozing onto the surface and smothering a large portion of it. He thankfully has his blubbery torso covered up unlike his days as a mercenary, the deep outline of his navel highlighted from how taut the fabric strains and stretches across his belly. Especially with how large Dieck’s gut is, a hefty portion of his poundage distributed to his stomach along with the rest of his upper body, his once sculpted pecs now instead two hefty breasts larger than his face, which would splay down his belly if not for his tight shirt. Dieck's arms strain against the tight confine of his sleeves, bulbous flabby wings for arms bulging past the thick fabric. He rests one hand on his gut, slowly rubbing and patting it. The part of his gut that isn't smothering the table smothers his wide thighs along with his fat pad.

Rutger glares in response. “More like I lost my skill… Especially when you keep stuffing me,” He uncomfortably shifts in his two chairs, his bottom heavy figure spilling out the sides of the furniture. His pants barely contain all of his bulk, Rutger’s ass always a struggle to get covered up. He has his thighs spread apart from all the fat stuffed into them; his fat pad getting in the way from how it spreads out and presses against his pants, his stomach comfortably resting on it as if to give him a second stomach. His thighs are stuffed inside his pants, the two girthy limbs crammed against and squishing his fat pad. Rutger’s thighs similarly spill off the sides of his two chairs. Leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, his fat, bulky arms rest against the comfortable shelf of fat that is his gut, his arms pressing against his sizable rack that still manages to seem dwarfed when compared to his prodigious lower half.

Rutger's grumbling stomach interrupts the two's brief silence.

“Well, you seem to enjoy all the food I give you. I've certainly been enjoying all the food,” Dieck gropes his right tit, the fat squishing outside the palm of his hand from its sheer size alone.

Rutger looks away from Dieck's lecherous grin. Instead, he glances down at his own obese self, his blubbery body taking up all his vision. “When's the food coming? I already booked us our room,” He grumbles, failing to hold back a blush as he continues to stare at his own heft, hand patting his gut.

With one hand on the table to support himself—the table surprisingly sturdy enough to withstand the amount of weight he rests on it—Dieck stands up from his chairs. “While you were busy arguing with the innkeeper about how we won't break all the beds, I already ordered our food to be delivered to our room,” Dieck takes slow, ponderous waddles around the table, his sloshing gut which gurgles and grumbles from going hungry after not eating for an hour slapping against his wide, doughy knees. He outstretches his hand towards Rutger with a deep breath and a wide smile.

“I said I won't break the bed. You're another issue,” Rutger slowly stands back up on his feet as he accepts Dieck's hand. The chairs end up pushed away by his ass. His gut presses against Dieck's own as the two men stand, their own enormity pressed up against one another despite the distance between them.

Dieck simply chuckles at first. The two obese men slowly waddle to their room. Their pace goes well at first, the steady, albeit slow, waddling working well for them for a while before they slow down even further, sluggish pace nearly coming to a crawl as the two men take deeper breaths and heavier wheezes. “You weigh even *haah* more than I do,”

“I'm wider. You *wheeze* weigh more,” Rutger promptly retorts.

Upon reaching the hallway clearly not equipped to handle the extreme width of two men that weigh far more than half a ton combined, the two men let go of each other's hands. And Dieck immediately pushes for Rutger to go first, the slightly taller man using his partner's enormous ass as leverage to shove him. And an excuse to grope him, his hands sinking and grabbing at all of his plush lard.

“So you admit it, *huff* you are fatter than I am,” Dieck momentarily fans himself with his shirt, pulling at it as much as he can with his own girth in the way. His own bulk—mostly his enormous gut squishing against Rutger’s huge ass—when paired with the barest of physical movement leaves the two obese men sweating and tired. “Besides, remember when we broke our first bed?”

Rutger's keys hastily shoved into the two's door is the only response he gets. Rutger's cursing as he slowly and carefully maneuvers his width through the door follows it up. Dieck sucks in his gut while walking inside their room for the night.

Thankfully the two men have their feast awaiting them, Dieck having ordered the entirety of the inn’s humbly sized menu twice—one of each for the both of them.

Rutger wastes no time in enjoying the sanctity of privacy by stripping off his clothes. Though the task does take far more effort than before, tree trunk sized thighs and enormous ass alongside doughy, hard to maneuver arms from their own respectable size limiting his flexibility with so much fat pressing up against itself by any shift of motion.

Dieck helps Rutger out, eagerly. He pulls down on the waistband of his partner’s pants, essentially tugging them down to the floor before helping the struggling Rutger take off his shirt. And in turn, Rutger helps Dieck; the two men far too fat to properly do much of anything on their own, they rely on one another despite the joint wheezing and limited mobility they share, some part of the two corpulence always touching the other man nearly at all times.

Now in their small clothes, the former swordsmen that now lack any sort of prowess to wield a sword, much less swing it, ignore the two beds that await them and instead focus on the feast in front of them. Their ponderous width exposed, their hefty figures are free to breath without their constricting clothes

“Go lay down, I'll bring the cart in-between us,” Dieck waddles on over to grab the food without hesitation.

Rutger half listens, choosing to sit down on his bed. Which elicits numerous, creaks from the frame the second Rutger’s massive bulk rests on it.

“Quit worrying, just lay down already,” With his hands on Rutger's rumbling gut, Dieck ushers him further onto the bed, the single pillow propped behind Rutger’s back in some useless gesture to hold his weight. Rutger takes up the near entirety of the bed’s width. His ass and thighs come close to touching the very edges of the mattress.

“Are you happy now?” Rutger reaches over to grab some more food. He only stops himself with wide eyes from seeing Dieck at the foot of the bed, pudgy hand on it as he ever so sluggishly lifts up one leg to the best of his ability. “What are you doing? Stop!”

But Dieck doesn't listen, kneeling as he gets on the bed and resting his weight against Rutger’s own. The frame splinters, harsh cracking wood sounding out and immediately breaking the bed.

“Well, what's one more bed broken? We got more than enough money to pay the man back,” Grinning from jowl to jowl, Dieck grabs the closest plate of food and feeds himself.

“Damnit…” Rutger rolls his eyes but doesn't argue with the logic, brain focusing a tad too much on their mere weight being able to destroy something meant to be so sturdy. Glancing back up at Dieck, his partner's loud, gluttonous, nearly moaning chewing hard to ignore when he's also pressed up against him, his impatience grows upon being just out of reach of the food. “Well, hurry up and feed me at least,”

Dieck shoves a loaded forkful of roasted chicken in Rutger’s mouth, the starving man unable to hold back an unrestrained moan upon finally indulging in food after tiring himself from a short yet difficult walk.

Dieck continues to expertly shovel food into Rutger’s mouth while also making sure to eat more than enough to keep himself satiated. “I'll make sure we both get our proper fill tonight. And I'll make sure this isn't the last bed we break,”

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the-forbidden-tuna · 2 months

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Played fe7 and fell in love with Will so naturally i had to draw him gaining weight,

#plus he looks like me irl so thats also a plus #and he has the same name as me too #fat emblem #my art #myart

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the-forbidden-tuna · 2 months

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My part of an art trade with @the-forbidden-tuna

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the-forbidden-tuna · 3 months

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Dimitri and Soren

The trope I appreciate very much

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the-forbidden-tuna · 3 months

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the bird men are doing things

#fatreysonaaaaaaa #tibarn is the perfect feeder bf

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the-forbidden-tuna · 3 months

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been playing radiant dawn cause of my partner and i enjoy the hot bird boy

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the-forbidden-tuna · 3 months

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I got to That Part in radiant dawn so i made this

#asjdksj this parts great lmao #course maybe sothe should get so fat tibarn cant lift him

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the-forbidden-tuna · 4 months

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Would you be interested in writing a fic where Sylvian, due to the fear of dimitri disappearing again begins sending Dimitri gifts of food? And Dimitri is fairly oblivious and just eats whatever’s in front of him?

ajsbjshsnb I remember being mad that they don't have an A support together like saur fucking RUDE. Also, I do love Sylvain in a softer environment and without the misogyny ajnsjbajn. (and crests cause I hate crests and his issues aren't even like just a crest thing lol)

Hope you enjoy this cause had fun with it cause hrghgh soft moments

Warning: This is a fetish story!

“I’m shocked that you’d come and visit me,” Comfortable in the lavish seating that his parlor has to offer, and with no one to intrude on him, Dimitri reclines back into his armchair. He balances his half-drunk cup of tea on the saucer underneath it with one hand, his other arm free to drape over the side of the chair’s armrest. “Especially when there’s already a meeting two days from now. I half expected you to be gallivanting about Fhirdiad about now,”

Sylvain leans to the side of his seat with his elbow perched on the armrest. His chin rests on the palm of his hand as he watches Dimitri. “I can’t believe His Majesty thinks so little of me. I’m a changed man, promise!” Despite the wide smile he shows his eyes are narrowed at Dimitri’s direction. More specifically, at the small paunch that Dimitri sports, a small sliver of pudge taking residence where gaunt abdomen used to be.

“You have changed. But I still remember how much you used to complain about Fhirdiad’s women. Always thinking that-”

“Hush, Your Majesty. What if a fair maiden heard such cruel words coming from Faerghus’ own king? Think of the rumors that’d start,”

Dimitri stands upright in his chair. Slightly leaning forward, his small little amount of flab for a belly seems larger as it presses against his top. “I- forgive me. You’re right,”

Sylvain can’t even hold back his laughter. He leans back into his chair with his eyes squinted as he tries his best to temper his enjoyment. “You still wear your emotions on you sleeve,” Sylvain wipes a few stray tears at the corner of his eyes.

“I am honest. A good quality for a king to have,” Dimitri grumbles to himself. Reclining back into his chair, his cup of tea is replaced by a small dish filled with two orange cream scones.

The sugary sweet comes courtesy from Margrave Gautier, Sylvain taking up the hobby of baking to help with the large amounts of free time that come with relations improving with Sreng through Sylvain’s actions and His Majesty’s insistence with helping him. Though Sylvain's sudden, new hobby comes with the extra intention of being made for His Majesty’s consumption, the Margrave finding it hard to deny the appeal and satisfaction that comes to him whenever Dimitri compliments his growing experience; the sudden way her cheers up or perks up at the thought of someone doing something for him—the notion of anyone wishing to do something for Dimitri regardless of his status still a tall ask for the King no matter how much he denies it—also spurs Sylvain into bettering his confectionary delights. Especially after the fright he had been given all those years ago back when Dimitri had disappeared from Fodlan, disappeared from him, only to reappear as nothing more than a former husk of himself. The memories of such a broken state of his friend still cling to Sylvain’s heart, the jagged fragments stabbing him in fear of such a thing reoccuring with running a kingdom nothing but a thankless, far from easy task. The memories also reignited his curiosity; nothing more than what was expected between a future King and his future Margrave that became friends, Sylvain can only try and hold back and onto the feelings that crave something more. Something more intimate.

The small pile of pudge for a little tummy on Dimitri only drives Sylvain further insane. All the what still feel like new thoughts and ideas mingle together, the overthought hopeful scenarios and fantasies replaying in his mind even more than the ones full of fear back when he had first found Dimitri again. Thoughts of Dimitri perhaps being even a bit softer, of feeding and caressing his arms to properly give him the love and adoration he deserves, to see his face-

“Did you remember about a poor woman you abandoned?” Dimitri stands in front of Sylvain.

Sylvain's thoughts are disrupted by Dimitri, but his thoughts slowly begin to drift back to Dimitri's pudgy tummy as it stands so tantalizingly close to his face. "No. I was just thinking about how much you've enjoyed my baking. Not as much as Ashe or Dedue's but no one can hold a candle to them,"

“I should work it off soon,” Dimitri pouts. He grabs the bit of flab, the small slivers of pudge held between his thumb and fingers. “Regardless,” Dimitri clears his throat. “As I was saying. I have a meeting I must attend,”

“Ugh, you look just better,” Sylvain scoffs, practically tossing himself into the back of his seat. The inquisitive eye that looks at him with inquisitive eyes causes him to think about just what he said. The realization only brings a small smile to his face, the rest of his emotions securely buried underneath with the rest of his screaming and desire to stab something with his lance. “You look healthy. Better than the way you looked like you came crawling out of a hole. But what I think doesn’t matter. Especially when your subjects would be a little upset to see you late,”

Dimitri thinks nothing of Sylvain’s sudden burst words or his flustered nature. The oblivious, unaware King simply goes on his way as his kingdom needs him—Sylvain left with nothing more than a soft smile and goodbye.

Sylvain simply stays in his seat, the encroaching negative thoughts upon seeing His Majesty leave him—almost like those many years ago—are pushed away by his errant thoughts at seeing Dimitri's perky rear and its small extra amount of heft as he walks. He does truly think that Dimitri looks better like how he does.

Sylvain also thinks he’d look better with some extra heft.

____________

Dimitri stares down at himself. His fingers clench the waistband of his pants, slightly widened digits curled around fabric in his frustration to get his clothes on. His clothes fit him poorly; the slightly inelastic fabric hugs his extra curves. The pants come up to his widened waist, the clothing pulled up after several rounds of frustration. His stomach, the distended belly that it now is, slightly pushes past the waistband of his pants. His small, squishy gut covers his button, if his pants were able to be buttoned, the two flaps of fabric unable to go come together from his budding bulge of blubber from his fat pad. Dimitri’s thighs are notably wider as well. His pants are taut from the thicker legs, both his thighs having a slight wobble to them from the adipose that lines his legs. Dimitr’s shirt does much better but the fabric still is taut around his belly. His small gut wobbles as he allows himself to fall back into his sofa, a small tuft of his own hair blown out of his face with a huff proceeding it. His budding breasts feel strained underneath his shirt with his sitting down now. His chest stretched out the width of his top.

“Damnit,” Dimitri mutters underneath his breath, as if anyone could possibly hear him when he’s all alone in his room. He rests a hand on his gut, the palm following the soft curve of his stomach. His other hand is on his thigh, his fingers drumming his flabby leg. His stomach growls despite his budding mild annoyance. So much done already despite the sun still refusing to descende for the night, his rumbling stomach craves something to satisfy itself after all his hard work.

A cherry pie awaits him at his table. The perfectly boxed confection a gift from Sylvain, the signed and sealed note clearly Margrave Gautier’s own, Dimitri had tried to stop himself from indulging in his cravings. But the soft scent of the in season fruit mixed in with the buttery crust tempts Dimitri too much with nothing of importance, or anything else really, scheduled for later.

“One slice before dinner won’t hurt,” Dimitri cuts himself a generously portioned slice. The fruit filling smells even stronger as it slowly begins to spill out from his slice as he takes a forkful of it. A small hum escapes him the instant he takes a bite, the filling far from sweet to help compliment the crust. The second forkful comes faster than the prior one; Dimitri continues to help himself to his dessert faster, as if the treat were to disappear on him.

It doesn’t take long before the slice soon ends up completely devoured. “He’s definitely gotten much better,” Dimitri lets out a content sigh as he rests. His stomach is at peace with the rest of him. But it doesn’t last long, his gut letting out a long, guttural grumble.

Dimitri stares at the rest of the pie, a hefty helping even for multiple people still left. The greedier side of his brain wins after mentally arguing with himself, just one extra slice far from a bad thing. Especially when it comes as a gift from such a close friend.

One extra slice quickly devolves into an entire pie eaten in one singular sitting, dinner foregone in favor of tending to his bloated stomach that is a mess of noises. Though Dimitri can’t find any sort of reason to complain about himself after such a delicious treat, the stomach ache well worth it.

__________

Faerghus' winter as chilling as ever, the country's king takes residence inside the comfort of his warm, well insulated room.

Along with his favorite Margrave of course.

"Here, try these ones next," Sylvain brings a small tray with simple, homemade chocolate chip cookies over. Sylvain rests a hand against Dimitri's gut.

His Majesty is now heavyset. No longer able to claim being simply pudgy or even fat, the royal is now obese with his weight finally cresting just above 400 pounds the last time he weighed himself a couple days ago.

Dimitri pays little attention to the hand that uses his own sizable gut as a resting spot. Nor does he pay attention to the way said hand lightly rubs the ball of fat as he grazes away at all the treats offered to him. "Thank you," Is all he plainly says, a few cookies smattering the sides of his plump lips and dusting his cherubic face.

Dimitri seated, he fills out both his clothes and his chair, both of them showing off his extra weight from so many snacks and desserts given to him by Sylvain. Dimitri's gut is the largest aspect of him at his size. The large blubbery pile of lard sits comfortably on his lap. His shirt is thankfully new. The larger piece of fabric manages to cover up his girth but doesn’t hide his enormity, all of Dimitri's girth and extra weight on display now regardless of how loose of clothing he wears. Dimitri’s chest that rivals many of the women’s breasts that Sylvain would hit on stretch out his shirt. The outline of his two meaty man boobs are visible, the soft, sagging arch of them showing along with the bit of flab that lurches forward as he sits. The outline of his enlarged nipples are also visible, the faint circular spot always a point of interest for Sylvain’s vision and a fantasy for his hands.

Dimitri takes little time to finish the dozen cookies offered to him, the two blueberry scones from earlier nothing more than an appetizer. His weight still rests heavily on his mind despite the way he continues to gorge himself. “I think it’s time I work off all this weight,” Dimitri confides in his trustworthy friend. He pokes at his gut, his large sausage for an index finger sinking into his gut. “As my friend, I’m sure even you would agree that I’m rather fat,”

All Sylvain hears is his saliva running down his throat as he swallows. Trying his best to put on his largest smile, even he finds it hard to with Dimitri right next to him. Especially with how large his thighs are, both Dimitri’s thighs squished against the sides of his chair even while splaying them out to the side in some semblance of an attempt for space. And how comfortable they look to be used as his seat, Dimitri’s soft gut the only obstacle in the way but even that is more a treat than anything to deal with. His wide thighs are around the width of Sylvain’s own trim, muscular waist now. And their immensity is shown off by the way they press against his pants, the two jutting cylinders for legs cramped. And while Dimitri’s ass hasn’t received the same amount of plush padding as the rest of him, the two flabby cheeks that make up his ass still have heft to them as they fill out his pants well.

“See, even you are afraid to tell me the truth,” Dimitri sighs. He glumly looks at his sorry, fat state.

Broken out of his short little daydream, Sylvain scoffs upon hearing Dimitri’s self harsh words. “Oh please. You look damn perfect like this,” His fingernails dig into his hands. His teeth nearly cut into his tongue as he shuts his mouth.

“What? Surely you’re joking. I-”

“I mean it,” Sylvain spits out. Looking down at Dimitri, he can’t help but smile upon seeing him. Fears wash away, the muddled feelings dripping off of him. “Listen to me. Yeah, we’re friends. We’ve been friends for far too long and I, well I kind of want more than just that,”

“And all of this then?” Dimitri gestures to his gut. As confused as ever, he doesn’t even realize the effect he has on Sylvain as he lifts up his large gut, needing both hands to do so at this point.

“That was sort of an accident… But I do think you look better with all your extra heft. More of you to love,” Sylvain reaches for Dimitri’s stomach and rubs the stuffed gut.

“Sylvain, this doesn’t happen by accident. Is that why you took up baking, just to-just so you could fatten me?”

The bundle of nerves bubble in Sylvain’s throat, all of it threatening to spill out as he laughs. “Gods, no!” He takes deep breaths, slowly calming himself despite having to admit himself. “I just. Well you disappeared from everyone. I know things were awful and everything was shit but I thought you were dead. I felt like I failed you. And then you suddenly show up and sure everything is better but I still think that you'll just leave again. There! Are you happy now?” Sylvain turns to face Dimitri, his face red.

“Yes,” Dimitri’s own face mirrors Sylvain’s, the deep scarlet hue on his portly, cherubic cheeks as well. He stands up and hugs Sylvain. His body practically envelops him, Dimitri’s large, flabby arms squishing Sylvain as he holds him tightly. His gut presses into Sylvain; the expanse of flab is more than twice his width as Sylvain sinks into it.

“I didn’t start baking for you, y’know,” Sylvain grumbles. His arms are securely wrapped around Dimitri's own. “It was just nice to actually create something for once. And then I thought you needed some appreciation. Plus you always complimented me even when what I baked came out terrible. And then you got pudgy and my feelings for you got stronger,” Sylvain looks to the side. His blush burns even stronger, the furnace on his face able to melt the snow outside.

“So one thing led to another,” Dimitri finishes.

“Yeah. An accident,”

Dimitri laughs. Still holding onto Sylvain, his gut wobbles pressing and pushing against him. “A good accident then. I admit, I’ve felt strongly about you as well Sylvain. I must also admit that I enjoy seeing my boyfriend so flustered,”

The words come out like nothing for Dimitri, as if doing something as easy and natural like Sylvain’s own womanizing ways.

“Then how come I never got a dagger?” Sylvain throws out with his own laughter. He breaks free from Dimitri’s weakened grip, the much fatter man staring at him with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “Oh I’m kidding. Besides, if you really want to try and lose some weight, then I’ll help you. We’ll spar,”

“You make fun of me and yet you propose sparring as our first activity,” Dimitri chides him but still follows along.

“Hey, this’ll be interesting. Winner gets to make the loser do something. Granted, we’ve both already gotten eyefuls of eachother but those are way back when. My memory might need some refreshing,” Sylvain already turns back on his lecherous charm. He grabs Dimitri’s ass. His hand firmly holds it as the two walk.

“Fine then. And who knows, perhaps I’ll work up an appetite after this. I’m sure you’ll be willing to help me, won't you?” Dimitri smiles softly. Dimitri begins to lead the way, ready to show off and beat Sylvain all for a favor. Sylvain is the exact same, the two idiots glad to work off their newfound frustration in a more close range, intimate session.

The first of many.

#ill always reblog fat didi content

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the-forbidden-tuna · 4 months

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ooh could you do one with gaius getting sothe addicted to sweets, but sothe has a slower metabolism than gaius so he gets absolutely massive?

Really enjoyed this idea and fucking love guys just becoming absorbed in their gluttony. So like, decided no magic or trick in this lol

So hopefully this was decent and kinda hit that mark!

Warning: This is a fetish story!

The thick obscurity of the night blankets the castle’s walls, darkness and shadows line the stretching and winding hallways. The lit torches are the only guardian angel for those brave enough to wander at such a late hour, dusk and dawn both far away. The two current people out and about find the torches to be one of their greatest nemesis, however.

Both of them are thieves, the two currently employed by the Order of Heroes. They scurry on out of the castle; each haul packs full of their spoils on their backs, the goods barely making anything above a near muted sound. The two descend a spiraling staircase, the easternmost tower the closest to their escape point. They sprint down, two steps at a time, before the mirages of protectors can appear and try to stop them. By the time they make it little more than halfway down, they can hear the sheathing of weapons, the magical energy crackling as incorporeal bodies chase after them.

Currently exploring the Tempest Trials, the realization of material items fabricated when taken out of such a chaotic energetically charged area had been a huge one. Mostly for the order’s thieves who made the habit of stealing whenever such places popped up, usually in groups, many loathe to waste and use up a precious light’s blessing — and incredibly expensive, two good haul’s worth of expeditions barely able to cover the cost. While some only worked with specific others, the tantalizing offer and short window of opportunity when it came to the sporadic nature of the tempests, meant that many others worked with whoever was available.

Sothe and Gaius are just one of the many random assortment of small teams that came together by happenstance; the two of them working with one another for the very first time, the two’s very different attitudes had been quickly overcome as they got to work. Now, they do their best to escape, fighting far less preferable than a quick haul. Sothe and Gaius curse under their breath as they speed up, willing their legs to push them faster and farther. They slam against the door of the tower, keeping quiet unimportant when already under chase; they sprint even faster, panting as boots kick up dust and gravel.

They refuse to look back as they jump into the portal, the mass of energy closing no more than a few seconds after them as they fumble with the contraption in the room made with Kiran’s magic.

The two are safely back in Askr. More accurately, they’re in one of the order’s towers, the usually sealed off place always hosting a portal that could access the tempest whenever it appears.

Sothe goes through his bags, organizing the magical tomes he found.

“See?” Gaius doesn’t bother with the portal anymore, sure of his safety. He reclines against the curved wall. He rests his head back, hair brushing against the stonework. “All worked out,” Gaius takes deep breaths, his chest heaving. Beads of cold, wet sweat cling to him, the drops of exertion trickling down his neck. While he catches his breath, he rummages through his many pockets, most of them hidden. Eventually, he finds his prize. He unwraps the sweet deliciousness and pops an orange flavored lollipop in his mouth.

Sothe slams a book down. He glares at the other man, lips close to a snarl as they had almost been caught up due to Gaius’ detour to the kitchen. Sothe grabs another book tightly gripping it; this one he actually recognizes as a tome of light, not that he can tell the order of strength, and he loosens his grip and lets out a scoff. “Whatever,” Sothe puts his books tomes back, now a bit better organized. He catches the pouch that is thrown at him.

“Just don’t say I never compensate people,” Gaius smirks at him. Gaius already carries his haul as he walks off. “See ya later, green,”

Sothe nearly tears open the pouch. Inside are nothing but sweets, chocolatey goodness offered to him as recompense. Sothe closes the pouch back up with a scoff. Carrying his pack of goods with his back, he ties the small pouch to his waist. He slowly makes it his way back down to the order’s castle, the green pastures crunching under his tired legs. Sothe’s nose wrinkles as he walks, the sweets on the back of his mind. Stomach grumbling, he stops in his tracks. Reaching for the pouch, he opens it back up. He unwraps the insignificant ball of chocolate, inspecting it while holding it between his thumb and index finger. “I can’t believe people would willingly eat something so pointless,” Having never been given the opportunity to eat sweets after living off the funds of being nothing more than a street urchin for so long, he never sought such things even after partaking in two wars. But the damn way Gaius always gorged himself on sweets and talked about them as if personally saved by such confections couldn’t help but peak his curiosity.

Sothe takes a bite of the chocolate, only a little morsel taken. His mouth immediately puckers from the sweetness, his cheeks seeming more gaunt. But he eats the bit of white chocolate all the same, licking his teeth afterwards. “These are fine, I guess” Sothe speaks to no one besides himself, eating the rest of the piece of chocolate. And as soon as he finishes with that one, he unwraps another one, popping the entire thing into his mouth. This one having caramel, Sothe nearly chokes on his own spit, salivating from the sweet goodness. Sothe closes the pouch after that and goes on his merry way to organize all his loot to pawn off, trying not to think about the surprisingly delicious sweets.

Sothe's willpower fails him however. Never before having such a delicious snack, he couldn't help but crave more. And with how Gaius could always be found guzzling a variety of confections, he found no harm in indulging in his newfound sweet tooth besides embarrassment of being found out.

Until he had gained a small potbelly from his excessive snacking, the treats clearly added to his narrow waistline. But even that wasn’t enough to sway him. Sothe couldn’t help his new addiction, gaining even more weight. Something Sothe could only blame Gaius for, the thief obviously having put a spell or potion in those chocolates he gave to him so long ago.

"Damn it," Sothe tugs down on his crop top. Having already loosened the lace holding the fabric together, the straps press against his chest. No longer solid and defined as it once was, his chest has a chunk of added heft to them, the square corners of his pecs now softened out with extra flab. The crop top also bulges out at the bottom, pushed upward by the prominent belly fat Sothe now has. Sothe also no longer wears his belts; his pants fit him snuggly and securely enough now. Too snug, the beige fabric squeezing his hips and making his love handles jut out even further than they normally do. The extra hundred pounds that Sothe has gained sits heavily on his body, a good portion of the poundage going to his gut. The weight also sits heavily on his mind, always embarrassed about his size.

Sothe having organized his haul from multiple expeditions now, the piles of books are stacked in his corner, forgotten by him.

Intending to auction them off to the ever greedy Annas — so many of them now that what once used to be an attempted truce between them grew out of control and turned into a cutthroat battle of money and auctions — Sothe prefers to not deal with that for no. Mainly because he still has his large sum of gold from prior jobs, so much earned from them. He had initially intended to save such money for later but now he dips into his funds.

All to satisfy his cravings.

Sothe currently walks back to his room. Once again he carries his well earned haul, the bag even larger and more stuffed than usual. Sothe’s goods don’t come from the tempest’s illisionary creations this time. They come from the marketplace instead. He has nothing but sweets, Sothe a blushing mess as he stews in his own thoughts of his predicament. He can feel the way his stomach sways, the new overhang bumping into chunky thighs that he has to waddle now or else have them chafe. He winces as his chest feels extra constrained, his doughy moobs pressed down by his top’s lacing; the flab also bulges out in between all the straps. Sothe turns the corner to the hallway where his room is, almost making it after the long stroll. He pouts when he sees who waits for him, plush cheeks dimpling.

Gaius waits right beside Sothe’s door, trademark lollipop in his mouth. The thief rests his back against the wall, his arms raised behind his head. He pushes himself off when he spots Sothe, walking towards Sothe with a grin.

His grin slowly goes away, replaced with eyes a bit too wide. Gaius half clears his throat half cough into his fist, unable to quite decide on which way to recover and stop his slight staring. “Uh, hey green? Figured you might be down to go to the tempest but uh…”

“I already went,” Sothe lies, lifting his bag from behind him up slightly. He hides his grimace as he feels his arms strain a bit and the way his underarm flab jiggles, the sensitive skin appreciating the cool air after being practically affixed to the side of his chest.

“Uh huh,” Gaius nods his head slowly. “Who’d you end up going with?”

“Julian. Rennac would rather laze around than bother with the tempest and I couldn’t find you,”

“Got it. Well, guess that means I'm out of a partner,” Gaius refuses to point out how Julian only ever works with Rickard, the two — despite all their bickering and antics — always doing the best out of anyone else. Gaius sighs, walking off. But he does stop saying one brief thing to Sothe before heading off. “Word of advice, you might want to lay off the sweets,”

Sothe holds back his comment, blaming the thief but he can’t let Gaius know that he is aware of his trick. Instead, he heads into his room and opens his sack of treats. Reminding himself to put more effort into exposing Gaius’ plot, he digs into his pile of sweets, unable to hold back his moans.

Unable to bother discovering such a plot, Sothe continues to pig out on all manner of sweet things. Unable to fully satisfy his cravings, Sothe has gained even more weight. The poundage on his body seems to exponentially pile on his body as his weight grows, Sothe needing to eat more and more to fulfill his hunger.

Sothe has become an absolute glutton. Needing to gorge on sweets so often has left him with a body fit for him. Now, he wears a massive shirt that can finally cover his bloated body. His shirt can easily cover any other hero twice over, the pile of fabric able to dwarf anyone else. But on Sothe, it is barely able to cover him up. The fabric delicately follows the curve of Sothe’s gut. His expansive, wide stomach happily spreads out in front of Sothe, the gut always entering a room first. His love handles bulge out from both sides of Sothe, his gut by far the widest part of him. His love handles often get jammed into the crowded doorways. Sothe’s gut is so large now that it has an overhang, something that Sothe gained a couple hundred pounds ago but is far more pronounced at his extra large size. His tucked shirt further pronounces his overhang, the sagging mass of belly fat drooping down just enough now to cover up Sothe’s fat pad. Said fat pad is covered on all sides by pure lard, Sothe’s large thighs smushing it on both sides. Sothe’s new pants look painted on from how much his thighs test the material’s durability. His thighs also test one another with their girth, the few moments that sothe spends walking usually leaving his thighs chafed no matter how wide his gait is. His ass stretches out his pants similarly, the pant’s waistband can’t even completely cover up his rear, the upper bit of his ass fat and crack sometimes visible after Sothe stuffs himself and makes his tucked shirt ride up.

Sothe is currently in the mess hall. Sweets truly good and well, he now needs larger treats. Entire cakes and trays of brownies are easily knocked back by the once lithe thief. He has a cake in front of his seat, taking his time to savor and eat it. Sothe ignores the way the table presses into his enormous gut, the mass of fat seeping underneath the wood and resting on his meaty thighs. His thighs also spread out on the bench beneath him, his ass sagging off the back of the reinforced, upsized seating.

Sothe groans as he spots the one person he didn’t want to see. He thinks about sitting up from his position, but he simply keeps on eating the cake in front of him, half of the two tiered confection eaten by Sothe and Sothe alone.

Gaius can’t even hide his surprise when he spots Sothe. He even rubs his eyes, as if sothe would magically be his nimble, svelte self instead of the superchub that he is now. His pace is hurried as he makes his way to Sothe’s table. He takes a seat opposite from him, only able to imagine the thief’s size as he takes large chunks of bites from his cake.

“So, tubs, I guess you didn’t listen,”

Sothe can only stare at Gaius in exasperation, a forkful of cake almost brought to his plump lips. He slams the fork down, able to show a modicum of willpower for the first time ever after falling down the slippery slope of gluttony.

“You did this to me,” Sothe states, flabby hands gripping the edges of the table. His plump fingers press together, Sothe unable to spread them far apart with the decrease in flexibility. He doesn’t care that he has no proof, if he had been outwitted, then so be it, but he needs Gaius’ reasoning for why he fattened him up.

“What?” Gaius can say nothing else; his face is scrunched in both concern and confusion.

“Those chocolates you gave me,” Sothe pauses to stuff himself with another bite of cake. He lets out a sigh as he swallows, resting both of his hands on his gut. Sothe can feel the bit of wind brush against the bit of his exposed stomach, his shirt now having untucked itself from his gorging.“The chocolate you gave me had something in them, a curse,” Sothe catches his breath after taking another bite.

Gaius laughs in Sothe’s face, the laughter taunting him in the face. “I’ve done nothing. Those were some cheap chocolates you can get anywhere,” Gaius stands up from his seat after his laughter dies down a bit. He stands behind Sothe and grabs his love handles, a big, meaty handful of Sothe's adipose in both his hands. “The only thing I did was fail to warn you how fattening sweets are. But, it’s not my fault if you don’t have a fast metabolism like me, tubs. Everything that you’ve done has been all you. So if you want to stop, then it’s going to depend only on you. Good luck tubs,” Gaius smacks Sothe’s ass, his body wobbling.

Now left alone, Sothe stews in his own enormity. Looking down at himself, his chins fold into one another. He stares out his shelf for a chest, the huge breasts splayed out beneath him. He lets out a sigh, the truth of Gaius words stinging as he realizes. Sothe grabs his breasts with a frown; his massive chest flows out the palm of his hands, his chest even larger than them. He shakes his head as he thinks. The order having its own gym, he makes his plan for his diet: he can go to the gym right now, then a very light meal and tomorrow he can go for a walk as a rest.

Until he stares back down at the cake in front of him. Sothe grumbles, his jowls quivering as he loses the minimal willpower he’s gained. “I-I’ll start tomorrow,” Sothe lies to himself as he takes a bite of his cake with a small moan, and then another, all willpower gone once again.

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the-forbidden-tuna · 4 months

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Fire Emblem Sothe for a Twt request :p

#weight gain #fat!sothe #bestboiii

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the-forbidden-tuna · 5 months

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Art trade with @/TunasHeresy!! A big fat Volug enjoying some ice cream, truly does a body good.

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the-forbidden-tuna · 5 months

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Innes' Growing Viewpoint

Had like 200 words and then just had extreme lack of motivation so then just didn't touch this wip until I forced myself and well I guess that works lol so here's this and hopefully there's more eventually instead of waiting 2 months for a new story.

Really craved more Sac/red St/ones since been playing it so have my favorite character who I legit like never use lmao. Hope you enjoy some mind warping and hopefully it came out decent.

Warning: This is a fetish story!

Flapping pegasus wings sound off in the distance, the customary noise hard to frighten the chirping of Frelia’s scattered birds in the safety of the sparse trees amongst the grunts of the training soldiers in the courtyard. The sun manages to hold off on torturing everyone in its rays with the day rather cloudy. Frelia’s gray atmosphere perfectly matches its King.

“I’m a fool to allow this,” Innes adjusts the final portion of his outfit, the miniscule wrinkle in his cuffs irritating him much like the small bit of belly fat he now sports—the additional pale sliver of pudge had not been there the day before, but his hard work ethic has him immediately blaming himself—and even presses against the silky fabric of his clothes. Innes’ grip on his door handle slips upon the sound of shock and surprise coming from the courtyard. A quick trip to his balcony, and an even quicker glance outside shows him the cause for the commotion.

Despite the distance, the mop of cerulean blue hair is all too hard to miss. Along with the wide silhouette. The wave from Renais’ King and their slightly hurried pace as he enters the castle is also hard for Innes to miss, decorum hard to follow between the two grown men when having known each other for far too long.

“Tch, he’s still allowing himself to be an utter slob,” Huffing in disapproval of Ephraim’s size, able to see he’s gained some weight despite the large distance, he can’t help but grumble as he glances down at his own bit of pudge. With nothing to be done at this exact moment, he igores his current state of affairs and takes a seat on his ornate couch, the slender curves of each leg along with its armrests indicative of Innes’ highbrow tastes. As he awaits his visitor, the small bit of pudge on his figure slowly bulges out; the leather strap of fabric meant to hold his coat together ever so slightly begins to strain further, more and more of Innes fat ending up pressed against the material. His thighs slowly widen, two barely pudgy legs thickening outward and taking up more space on the furniture. Fattening up, Innes pays no attention to any of it, even as his weight begins to wind down and crest at a noticeable 300 pounds.

Instead, Innes waits patiently. As patiently as he can while his stomach grumbles, his early waking hours usually filled with some level of hunger. Glancing down, the small frown that frames his pudgy face is only alleviated by the faint smirk of satisfaction that crosses his mind when all alone. He gives his portly belly a small few pats; the pale flabby stomach jiggles, the slightly snug fabric meant to show off his curves following every slight yet noticeable bounce of his heft. The gesture only eggs his stomach on, the grumbling noise only intensifying.

“Hmmph,” Innes waits all alone in his lavish room. The only accompaniment he has is his grumbling belly, a feature he’s grown accustomed to from always having such a stocky figure—a fact that comes so naturally for him to recall despite the ever so slight fuzz he feels in the back of his mind. His still growing stomach interrupts that minor train of thought; his impatience gets the better of him as his rising weight only worsens his morning hunger. “To think I held off breakfast for Ephraim. When he gets here I’ll…” With a quick tsk, Innes stands up from his spot.

But not before he reaches for the belt that digs into his aching, wobbling gut like the harsh scales from the few times he’s ridden a wyvern—all with complete expertise over the mount despite the initial irritation from having such a hefty rider. Innes’ thick fingers, still firm and sturdy from all his years of archery, barely brush against the leathery adornment before they graze nothing besides the silky fabric of his clothes. His outfit changing before his very eyes, he pays no attention to it, even as his thighs widen and fatten up, each thickened limb becoming much more cumbersome to maneuver with each slow, meticulous step. Innes’ belly blossoms into a mound of a gut; the empty tank’s incessant grumbling only grows more uproarious as it sags further down his obese figure. Slowly, the flabby roll of fat descends past Innes’ fattened crotch and fat pad. His gut slaps against his fattened thighs as his gait turns even more awkward and cumbersome. His clothes change little in their appearance despite his growing size—and the widening state of his clothes—larger and larger amounts of expensive fabric needed to accommodate all of his girth. Innes’ decadent tastes remain the same even as he grows fatter. His arms grow more rotund, the two plump arms becoming much less likely to pull back on his string than to lift up a fork and stuff himself. His breasts fill out, the two moobs swiftly turning into full blown breasts as more plush lard gets slapped onto his ever growing body.

Innes’ waddling that only continues to come ever closer to a crawl ends up finally put on halt with a massive hand outstretched against the wall. Furiously red, the crimson hue on his face is only half from hunger. The other half from exhaustion, all too clearly displayed by the beads of sweat that stream down his porcine cheeks that bulge out and jiggle with each heaping gulp of air he breathes, Innes' massive body forces him to stop his fruitless waddling. Innes pays little attention as to why or even how he stood up, the massively fat royal always needing assistance to get up everyday now before being fed his daily feast for breakfast.

“Haah, I’ll get you for this Ephraim,” Innes mutters under his breath in between his heavy, tired wheezes. His still growing body presses further against the wall. Always so damn jealous of how much bigger I am. Innes thinks. The previous memories of his entire existence are fully altered to match his corpulent state.

Ephraim’s finesse to battle equally matched by his appetite, the azure haired royal stood out from his twin by his stocky figure. A figure that only grew as Innes gave extra treats and passive aggressive remarks, the slightly older male—who had also been rail then back then—unable to properly hide his fascination with Ephraim’s plumper than above average body. A bet from Ephraim had been all it took for Innes to start indulging himself. The excess calories that left him always so satiated and content, the constant gorging that helped his swelling waistline, Ephraim’s firm, demanding attitude that could all too easily goad Innes into stuffing more food down his throat all mingled with his own unabashed enjoyment of his increasing size, plus his naivety in believing that he truly was besting Ephraim at his own game, led to Innes ever growing heftiness that now leaves him teetering on immobility.

As Innes tries his best to regain his stamina, his bulging body that resembles more of a mattress continues to ache with hunger.

Fortunately for Innes, Ephraim finally makes his way to his room.

Ephraim rather portly as well, the obese man fills out his attire all too generously. His clothes seem painted on, fabric and buttons just loose enough to come close enough to where they strain but with still enough room to not immediately be in danger of tearing. Ephraim’s large, portly gut bounces with each heavy step he takes. His large stomach is outlined by his tight clothes, the beast of a gut well past his crotch. His breasts follow a similar motion, the upper portion of his torso straining his clothes with his engorged nipples visibly pressing against the material. His doughy arms are strangled by his sleeves; fat bulges out the sides. Ephraim’s lower half isn’t as well endowed as the rest of him, leaving him with a rather noticeable apple shaped figure. But his ass still has some heft to it, the two hefty cheeks for a rear wobbling while he waddles up to Innes.

Despite his own heavy breathing, Ephraim’s size and exhaustion only a fraction of Innes’, Ephraim supports himself with a cart of food. Ephraim’s rounded out fat appears even rounder with the addition of stubble. “You should be in bed, lardass,” Tucked in between his large, fat biceps and his breasts is a tome—not that Innes pays attention to it with food now near him.

“I hnnghh…” Already out of breath, Innes still growing ever larger and fatter, Innes has no response with his brain muddied by his impossible logistics of getting up by himself with his newfound reality at such an immense size.

Ephraim spares no delicacy as he manhandles and fondles Innes’ enormity. “Let’s make this quick, we don’t have much time left,”

Innes doesn’t bother asking what he means, food and comfort much more pressing.

“A pig like you really just can’t help but stuff himself,” Ephraim pushes into Innes to get him moving, lard sloshing against lard. He practically humps Innes to get him moving, the nearly immobile man’s pathetic movements still managing to slow further down. Ephraim thankfully manages to get him onto his bed, what used to be a canopy is now reduced to nothing but a massive mattress.

“Haaahhh… you’re jusshht hnnggh jeahloussh…” Innes weakly retorts even while Ephraim gets him comfortable and perched up by a multitude of pillows that still end up squashed underneath his titanic girth. His speech grows more difficult as he ends up even fatter, more and more of the mattress obscured by his immensity.

“Sure thing. I mean, it is impressive that just one of your tits alone is bigger than my gut. And I’m already fat as hell,” Ephraim hefts himself up atop Innes’ gut. Making himself comfortable, he parks his fat ass right atop Innes’ dining table of a gut. “All you do is gorge the entire day away. How are you going to make people respect you when you’re on your way to being fatter than a manakete?” Ephraim holds back his snickering the best that he can, gleefully grinning down at Innes while grabbing the first of many plates from the cart.

Innes’ eyes never stray from the plate of food Ephraim holds. Even as his memories focus on Ephraim’s words the best that they can, the words Ephraim tells him Innes’ very own the last time the two had seen each other—before Ephraim had cast his spell on the unwitting Innes. “Whaaht?” Is all Innes asks before Ephraim shovels rich, buttery lobster pasta down his mouth.

“If you want more, you’re going to have to ask for it. Unless you want me to catch up and pass you? Not that I’d ever become such a useless slob such as yourself,” Clearly enjoying himself, Ephraim leans closer to Innes, the tome holding the incantation that caused this left right beside it lest it get lost somewhere in between Iness’ numerous rolls of lard. He has Innes still growing, the gargantuanly obese man still managing to fatten up.

Innes lacks any semblance of shape to his enormity. Immense all around, the immobile man resembles a pile of lard more than the slim sniper and strategician he used to be. His massive stomach envelops everything around it, the pool of lard for a gut spreading out further. His ass cheeks that rival couches rest far behind him, the shapeless ass cheeks constantly jiggling with each deep breath he takes. His arms and legs are sunken into his enormity; the once slender limbs lack anything remotely near flexibility with hundreds and hundreds of pounds of fat crammed onto them. Innes can’t even move his digits with how fat he is. All he can do is eat and moan, the sudden changes forced onto him clearly enjoyed.

And despite all his pride, the immobile blob’s starving hunger wins out, that and his eagerness to grow even larger, to upstage Ephraim even further in the two’s nonexistent bet that he believes. “Pleeasshee…. Ihh’m… urrrp… sshtarhvin’ hhnnnggg…”

“You got it, pig. I’ll make sure you never be left wanting more,” Before going to feed the moaning Innes more, Ephraim reaches a portly hand for his tome. But he stops himself, making Innes smother the mattress in its entirety and watch as furniture disappears from his room to accommodate his even larger, more absurd size. “And since your fatass is enjoying how much of a blob you are, I guess I’ll keep us both nice and happy,”

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